


Quantitative Assay

by Juliette1713



Category: Northern Exposure
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-13 00:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21485572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliette1713/pseuds/Juliette1713
Summary: Set not long after Maggie and Joel start going out, somewhere in the spring of season 5...
Relationships: Joel Fleischman/Maggie O'Connell
Comments: 10
Kudos: 16





	Quantitative Assay

"Eight and a half."

It had started as a joke. Or at least he thought it had. They were almost three months into dating now, and he was no closer to solving the mystery of understanding her than he was on the day they'd first met. He knew, however, how much she enjoyed how little _he_ enjoyed this game. Which, of course, was why she was still doing it. And it worked every time.

"You've got to be kidding me. An eight?! That's all that warranted from you - an _eight_?" Still breathing hard next to her, he lifted his head as far off his pillow as he had the energy for - which wasn't far - to look at Maggie.

She was laying on her side next to him; her cheeks were still flushed and her hair was still mussed. Not that she looked any less gorgeous than usual to him - despite actively trying to piss him off at the moment. "Well, and a _half_," she said brightly, smirking at him. "Don't sell yourself short, Fleischman. It was very good..." 

"I can _not_ believe you sometimes." He dropped his head back down to the pillow before summoning the energy to roll onto his side to face her, determined not to let her see how good a job she'd done at irritating him so quickly. "I'd love to see your grading curve, O'Connell. Your standards seem a hell of a lot higher than most of the women I've slept with."

"Fleischman," she said slowly, teasingly, her eyes flirtatious as she laid her head on his pillow, her nose touching his. "When you've only slept with two people, I _am_ most of the women you've slept with." She kissed his top lip.

He narrowed his eyes at her a little since he had no real comeback to that. They'd never discussed it, per se, but she'd early on made the assumption she was his second, and he was annoyed she'd assumed right. "Fine, well, then your methodology is highly suspect. The other half never assigned me biased, subjective scores like an East German Olympic diving judge."

She slung her arm over him, hugging him closer, and nuzzled his nose with hers. "Yeah, but that's why you and I have better sex than you did with her," she said, smiling and kissing him again sweetly. "And anyway, Germany reunified years ago."

"_Three_ years ago," he one-upped her with specificity, knowing it'd piss her off and finally took the chance to smirk himself.

"Three...and a _half_..." she retorted, looking amused with her little callback. Her eyes were smug and irritatingly so but also hypnotizingly pretty and frankly downright seductive, causing his mind and body to be pulling him in wildly different directions.

Every aspect of what they had together was like this - careening along together, veering unexpectedly from one extreme to another, often more than one at the same time.They'd be fighting one minute and tearing each other's clothes off the next. She'd be affectionate and then standoffish and then back to holding his hand in less time than it took to drive them from town to her place - or for him to realize she'd gotten distant. He knew he should be miserable, with as rational and orderly as he liked his life to be, but something inside him loved the spontaneity she forced upon him - craved it, even. He had no idea why, only that Maggie did strange things to his psyche that he couldn't ever get enough of. He only hoped he had half the effect on her that she did on him. Not that he'd probably ever know.

She was still smiling at him with that unreadable glint in her eyes. It looked a lot like teasing which, with her latest parry, reminded him of the unfairly low score he'd earned in a game he hadn't agreed to playing in the first place. He knew he really just needed to take the high road here, but his sense of justice wouldn't let the topic rest. He almost always failed miserably at not letting her get to him.

"Why am only scoring an eight if it's so good?"

"Eight and a _half_, I said. And I know you'd rather get constructive feedback than empty flattery. There's always room for improvement, right?" She tousled the front of his hair affectionately and smiled again, looking highly amused with herself. He resisted his childish impulse to roll away, turn his back towards her, and give into sulking. He couldn't quite resist taking back the last word from her and trying to force her to feel a little guilty.

"You don't see how all this might be a little demoralizing to a guy?"

Her smile softened and she traced a finger down the side of his face. "Come on, we both know it was great. As usual." She kissed him just below his ear. She let her lips linger against his neck for several seconds before murmuring, "If it's any consolation, you're my all-time highest scorer - by a pretty wide margin. I have no complaints. Believe me, Fleischman."

He was quiet for a few seconds, basking in her unexpectedly straightforward compliment. Her earlier flippant assessment was still too irritating to ignore, though. "If you have no complaints, why am I still a B student?" He almost cringed at the whine he'd failed to hide in his voice.

"A B-_plus_ student," she said in a way that was infinitely more patronizing than it was encouraging. As well as simply incorrect - always the greater, more unforgivable sin, where he was concerned. She was coming in closer for another kiss, but he stopped her, pulling back from her enough that they were again face to face.

"No, no. An 85 is a B. No minus, no plus. It's straight up. Trust me, I spent the better part of a decade subject to - and highly invested in - academic evaluation. You cannot possibly be telling me that was B level work, either. I don't do B level work. Not at school. Not in my job. And certainly not at..." He trailed off, unsure of how to phrase what he wanted to say, as well as feeling both over-arrogant and just plain stupid. 

She used his sudden wordlessness to lean in and land a kiss on his lips this time. He closed his eyes and returned it. If they were kissing, they weren't arguing, he reasoned, plus he was starting to have trouble resisting her lips being so near his. When they finally pulled back apart, though, she was still looking smug enough to prompt him to start back in on his own defense.

"And anyway, you almost ripped a handful of my hair out tonight! That's not evidence of medial work. Look - look at this, O'Connell." He pulled back from her embrace enough to hold his arm up between them for her to see. "You left marks with your fingernails earlier, too! I think I'm bleeding..."

"Oh, you are not. Don't be such a baby." She tucked her knee behind his, pulling herself close again. "And a B isn't medial. Look, I'll give you an 8.75. Now it's a B-plus. Happy now? I'm tired of talking about this anyway."

"8.75!? Thanks, but no thanks, O'Connell. I'm not accepting pity extra credit from you." He moved to lay on his back, subconsciously but not unsubtly putting more physical distance between them. Petty, yes, but so was her arbitrary little game. 

The most embarrassing part of all of this was that he knew, deep down, if she'd have just said 9 this time, he'd have been happy. But what she did yield as a peace offering was too far shy of that for his ego to accept. Probably by design. He paused, briefly trying and then quickly failing again at letting the whole thing drop. "I mean, _three times_, O'Connell! Three! That's not a B!"

While he sulked, she'd snaked herself back against him, tucking her toes under his ankles. She was drumming her fingers on his chest, quiet for a moment. "It _was_ three, you're right. Huh. No wonder you're so snippy about your grade."

He glared at his ceiling, not wanting to look directly at her for the time being. "Wow, thanks, O'Connell. I'm not sure whether to be offended that they were so forgettable or just grateful you finally accounted for all of them." 

She propped herself up on one elbow, looming in his line of sight and stealing away his ability to evade eye contact. "In my defense, two of them were really close together." She smiled more, and he could almost swear she was blushing. "Anything but forgettable..." 

The look in her eyes had changed again, the playfulness being replaced with something new, something softer, and something he didn't recognize. Her smile wavered. "Hey, but can I tell you something?"

"What, that you've reconsidered again and I only really earned a 6, upon further reflection?"

"No," she said, her voice soft, matching her expression. Whatever this look was in her eyes grew more intense. "I think I love you, though." 

He could have sworn he felt his heart skip a beat. Her smile returned in response to whatever must have registered on his face in the growing silence as he lay stunned beside her. After ten seconds, and while he still was miles away from even accepting that he'd heard what he thought he had, she started talking again.

"Oh okay, I _know_ I love you. I'm even pretty sure I'm _in_ love with you, Fleischman. Not that I know why... And we've only been going out a couple of months, but I just... Hey, you okay?" 

He tried to respond but was frozen. He wasn't even sure he was blinking. 

"You wanna say something, Fleischman? Anything? Just so I know you didn't have a cardiopulmonary... embl... imb... inter...oh what is it? The fancy word for a heart attack."

"Infarction," he said, almost automatically, hearing his voice crack. He cleared his throat and started again. "A _myocardial_ infarction, not cardiopulmonary. Your lungs aren't directly involved. It's a blockage of the coronary arteries. A thrombosis. Technically speaking, and you..." he trailed off, remembering what she'd said just before that, his temporary paralysis returning.

"No, that's not right. It's called an imbol...embolism. That's it."

Her triumphant look and abject wrongness revived him quickly. "Well, but. That's not a heart attack, O'Connell. An embolism, I mean."

"Yes it is."

"No. No, it isn't. An infarction is a heart attack. An embolism is a blood clot that breaks loose and causes a blockage. You can't have a 'cardiopulmonary embolism', either. A pulmonary embolism, maybe. An arterial embolism, even. Which isn't the same as an infarction, even though I know it sounds like it is since it's arterial blockage. The difference is actually really interesting - see, the vessels in the heart are..."

She put her finger to his lips, quieting him. "I knew misusing medical terms would wake you back up," she removed her finger and pressed her lips to where it had been, smiling as she kissed him. "Hey, I'm kinda hungry." She sat up suddenly and rolled sideways and rose from his bed. "Do you want any..."

He snagged her wrist and pulled her tumbling back into bed with him so quickly that by the time she was oriented again, he was above her. His face unfroze finally to form a huge grin. With all the various emotions swirling inside him, he was glad what showed on his face was happiness. It's what he felt the strongest, anyway. 

"Hey! I need to get a snack. I'm starving." At seeing the look on his face, she grinned, but tried to cover it up. "What are you so cheery about Fleischman?"

"You're in love? With me?"

"Maybe a little bit. A _very_ little bit." He saw her blush again as she faltered in sounding haughty and teasing, and she broke eye contact with him and rolled her eyes. "But yes."

"Well," he tried to dampen his grin and look serious but couldn't. "Then, I owe you an answer, don't I?"

Her eyes were back on his and still had that look from before. He knew now it had something to do with her admission just before, and he couldn't get enough of seeing it. "It wasn't exactly a question, what I said..."

"No, but there's a question obviously implied in a statement like that."

"There is not."

"Yes, there is. Don't you want to know if I feel the same way about you?"

"No." She was smiling and tickling the hairs at the back of his neck so it took him a moment for her answer to register.

He tried not to sound as wounded as he felt. "You don't?" 

"No, 'cause I know you do."

The nervousness, confusion, and giddy joy that had been swirling inside him since she'd said it finally erupted into laughter. He rolled onto his side, hugged her against him, and murmured into her hair, "Oh do you?"

"Yeah," she said, pulling back to look at him, beaming back at his smile, surprised and disarmed by his laughter. "You have since last summer."

He was quiet a moment, debating whether he wanted more to know how she'd known or pretend she was wrong. "Not that you're right, but how do know that?" _Subtle_, he thought to himself, sarcastically.

"I just do. You're not exactly an enigma."

"How, though?"

"So I'm right?"

"I didn't say that - I asked you how you knew. _Thought_ you knew, I mean."

"If you don't agree that I knew, how can you expect me to walk you through how I figured it out?"

"Just tell me why you think you thought you knew then what you're saying you think you know now." He paused, replaying the words to confirm that they even made sense. 

"Admit I'm right, and then I'll tell you."

It was quiet a long while. He knew she knew she'd won; it was just a matter of how long they'd wait until he decided he'd just agree. As usual.

"Fine. I do. I am."

She frowned. "You aren't going to actually say it properly?"

"O'Connell! Two minutes ago, I asked you if you wanted me to, and you said no! And you've spent the time since then trying to convince me you already knew. Now I have to say it so it 'counts'? Not only that, but this is hardly how I wanted to tell you this for the first time. You are the most..." Her smile faded and that flicker started to disappear from her eyes, and he knew the time to tease and bicker was over - at least for the moment. He put his hand to her cheek. "O'Connell. C'mon...of course I'm in love with you. And I have been for a lot longer than since last summer."

"Yeah?" Her smile returned as did that look in her eyes.

"Yeah," he grinned at the sight of both. "How'd you know, though?"

"I didn't."

"O'Connell! So, what, you- you lured me into telling you so you..." He trailed off, shaking his head. He could hardly keep up with her changing moods - from smug to insecure to smug again. 

She kissed him. "'Lured' you? I may not have known, but I had a pretty good hunch. Your eyes give you away every time. It's very sweet, actually." That look was in her eyes and he felt better - again.

"Sweet, huh?" He eyed her warily. "You really do love me?"

"Yeah. You too?"

"Madly. The only way I could, considering it's you. Us."

They kissed again, and he moved his thumb gently against her cheek. This was shaping up to be a hell of a night already.

"Well," she said, pulling back abruptly. "Enough sappy stuff for one night. I'm still hungry." She stood up, walked to his dresser, and started opening drawers.

He'd been wondering how long an emotionally charged conversation like that would last before she retreated to the comforting confines of mild hostility. Not that he was terribly disappointed to leave the topic, being himself unrehearsed in talking this way about their still-new relationship. His mind was still stuck back on her telling him she was in love. With him! Her! This woman who'd eaten up so much of his brainpower these past 4 years, just in trying to understand her, let alone predict what laid ahead and whether he might someday, somehow be able to get anywhere with her. The woman he'd started to worry was something bigger than he was ready for when he found himself recovering suspiciously quickly from his breakup with Elaine. The woman who had saved his life once and whose life he'd saved right back; the one who'd broken his nose twice and heart just the once - well, so far. The same woman, he thought, sighing to himself, who was now blithely pawing through his things on the other side of his bedroom...

"O'Connell!" He sat upright in bed, watching her in shock. "What the hell are you doing, digging through my dresser like that?!"

She pulled out and then on a pair of his boxers as if that were sufficient answer before continuing to rifle through the rest of his things. He leaned over the edge of the bed, and snagged his own boxers off the floor. He hurriedly put them on and rose from the bed as she leisurely opened another drawer without closing the two that she'd already opened.

"You could have asked first." She still didn't respond as she tossed aside a plain t-shirt and then pulled on his favorite blue Columbia sweatshirt. He put his arms around her from behind. "You just don't believe in privacy, do you?"

"With someone who's seen me naked? No." She turned in his arms to face him, nose to nose. "With you? Especially no." She kissed him. "Now come on. I'm ravenously hungry, and I know you at least have pretzels in here because I watched you buy them yesterday."

"Let me put something on first. You go ahead. Since you have apparently zero reservations about digging through my things, the pretzels are in the cabinet on the left. I'll be out in a second - you took what I was going to wear. Without asking me."

"How did you ever graduate kindergarten, Fleischman? You're a terrible share-er." After another kiss, she slipped free of his arms and out of his room. Alone for the time being, he pushed all the drawers closed and pulled on the shirt she'd tossed aside, still turning over in his mind the exchange they'd had in bed just now. And how they'd gotten here.

He'd asked her out in a fit of courage in January, after years of ... well, whatever it was they were doing together. It had taken him two tries, in keeping with their tradition of failing on their first go around with anything they tried doing together. Their first date ended disastrously. The second one had been great. Since then, things had kept going well with them, if not terribly well-defined. Even so, he certainly hadn't expected her to tell him she loved him tonight. Or to finally tell her himself.

He was in love, though. And he had been for as far back as he could remember. He didn't believe in love at first sight, but Maggie had gotten under his skin early and stuck there, despite his best efforts otherwise. He never dreamed she'd already feel this way about him, though. Or admit it to him. Was it some passing impulse of hers, or did this mean she was considering something long term?

"What are you doing in there, updating your diary? Come in here. Have a snack with me."

Joel pushed the last drawer closed and grabbed his bathrobe down from its hook on his bathroom door before padding out barefoot into his living room. After a few steps, he realized that he hadn't done nearly as good a good job of sweeping as he'd thought and hoped she wouldn't notice.

He headed for his kitchen, but she'd already come and gone - and left his pantry door hanging open with the pretzel bag open on the countertop. He closed the bag, shut it in the cabinet, and turned to see her standing at his bookshelf, a handful of pretzels strung through their holes over the pinkie of one hand. Her back was to him and something of his he couldn't see was in her other hand - something she'd plucked from his shelves. Once again, she was apparently lacking even the slightest interest in pretending to honor any semblance of his privacy.

"This you?" she asked as he neared, ever so briefly waving a framed photo above her shoulder before pulling it back in front of her. He stood behind her and peeked over her shoulder. 

"I don't know. What is 'this'?"

"Picture," she answered, biting into a pretzel before holding them up to her shoulder without turning around. "Want one?"

"No. But thanks. And, uh," he stepped closer to her and craned his neck for a better look at what was in her hands. "Oh. That's a junior high formal. And yes, it's me on the left."

"You're really young." 

"14."

"That Elaine?"

"Uh," he said, suddenly feeling hugely uncomfortable. "Yeah."

"And this one?" Her hand reached into the recesses of another shelf for a picture which she held up for him to see. 

"High school graduation. Me. And Elaine again. Sorry."

"Like I care which photos you have up in here," she said, sounding very much like she cared. He made a mental note to thin out some of the more ancient pictures when she left. He'd been meaning to anyway. She held the picture at arm's length, examining as closely as she could without her reading glasses. "Only you have your cap and gown on, though. Did she not graduate high school or something?"

He smiled at the snide remark that betrayed her jealousy. He put his hands to her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. Odd as it was, that Maggie'd be jealous enough over a decades-old photo to take a petty stab at someone he hadn't seen in years corroborated her admission from moments before. And made him feel overjoyed again. "Not when I did. I skipped two grades, remember?"

"Really!?"

"I've told you that."

"You haven't. I doubt I'd have forgotten something like that. Really?"

"Yes, really. 10th and 11 grades."

"I've known you for 4 years, and you've never mentioned it."

"And yet you call me arrogant..."

"You are. Hmmm," she said noncommittally, still examining the photo carefully. "You look the same here as when you were in junior high. Guess that explains it; it was only about 10 minutes later." She replaced the picture carefully on his shelf. "Do you have any of your baby pictures?"

"What? Um, no. I don't think so. I mean, not here, anyway. My mom's got albums full of them, I'm sure..."

"Oh." 

He had no idea what was going on. Her mood was even more difficult to pinpoint than usual - quiet and contemplative but something else, too. An abrupt change from the bubbly, playful way she'd left his bedroom. Which had, of course, been an abrupt change from their moment of sincerity in his bed. And so on and so on, back to the start of their evening together, her moods changing every 10 minutes, it seemed like.

"Why? We've known each other how long, and you suddenly want to see my baby -"

"Who's this?" She'd interrupted him, reaching for another frame on his shelf.

"My grandmother. My mom's mom."

"Huh. She has your eyes...and that dimple..." Maggie said before pausing for a long time and examining the picture in her hand, forgotten pretzels still slung over her pinkie. From amorous to teasing to sincere to playful to nosy to jealous to pensive to Lord knows what next, Joel thought to himself. He was feeling compelled to start filling the growing silence with nervous chatter again when she said softly, "I've never told a guy that before. The love thing, I mean."

She _did_ still want to talk about that. That's what this was all about.

"You haven't?" He wished she'd turn around to face him so he could at least have her facial cues to judge her by. He was certain that hiding her feelings was the very reason she continued to face his bookshelf, though.

"No. Just you...wouldn't have been true about anyone else..."

For as varied and unpredictable as her moods were - especially tonight - vulnerability was her rarest. And the hardest for him to figure out what she wanted from him - or would allow. But she was telling him this for a reason, surely, and needed something from him. Without thinking, he put his arms around her and hugged her back against him, kissing the top of her head. He felt her lean against him and relax a little. Thank God - he was guessing right so far.

Standing and holding her in silence, he tried to think of what she might need next. He knew he'd probably never guess and decided he might as well say what he felt and hope it was somewhere in the vicinity of what she was looking for. Especially while the brief window on sincerity was still open. 

"Well, I'm glad you did. A little shocked, but glad." He spoke softly still and felt her relax further against him. "Very."

"It was in the hospital," she said quietly after a few seconds.

"What was? And what hospital?" They were talking so softly, he could barely hear her. Her voice was just above a whisper as they stood together by his bookshelf. She replaced the photo of his grandmother on the shelf and put her hand on one of his.

"On my birthday last year. When I realized. About you, I mean."

"That I was in love with you? I was that obvious?"

"Yes. You were, actually," she said, laughing a little. He felt her relax a little more. "But that's not what I meant. It's when _I_ knew. About me, I mean. That I felt that way about you..."

Her voice was still soft - sincere but unsure. He hadn't expected her to tell him any of this in the first place, but he really hadn't expected it to have been that long ago. Or that he was the first she'd felt this way about. He had no idea why she was sharing so much of this with him all of a sudden. Or what he could say that would come close to conveying his elation and agreement without scaring her. "Really?"

"Yeah. Really. Don't tell anyone that, though. Especially you." She shrugged her shoulders in his arms playfully, nudging them backwards into him. "You'll be unbearably smug."

He smiled and hugged his arms tighter around her. "I do love you, Maggie." God, that felt strange to say to her. After so many years of outwardly hating her (or at least pretending to) because it was easier than admitting he felt this way, it was terrifying to just freely voice such a private and weighty thing. And yet, it felt like something heavy was being lifted from his shoulders each time he said it.

And yet... How the hell was this supposed to work, anyway? Not only was every moment with her a guessing game, but none of this was in his plans. Joyful and fun though it was turning out to be... A relationship with Maggie - in nearly every possible way, in fact - ran opposite to those plans. He felt compelled again to speak, not only by the growing silence, but now by his guilty conscience, as he stood there questioning their very viability on the night they'd finally said they loved each other.

"But how's this gonna keep working between us, Fleischman?" She'd beaten him to it. Strangely enough, he felt suddenly calmer, knowing she had the same worry, despite how she felt about him. 

"I guess it'll work however it has since we met. Got us this far, didn't it? And if you think about it, I mean, nothing has to change. Right? If we've both felt this way all this time, then nothing's really different. Except that we both know now."

She didn't say anything back in response. Uh oh. He'd finally missed one. 

"O'Connell...what's wrong?"

"I just...I don't know. Nothing." 

He held her quietly, as his mind was flooded with just about every conceivable emotion a person could feel, including the sinking realization of a certain inevitability. If she loved him, and if this actually worked between them long term, like it was so far... Suddenly, his imagination began supplying images of a future he'd never seriously considered before - and the one he'd have to miss. What scared the hell out of him was how much calmer it made him feel to consider this new, 'other' plan. All at once, he knew what she was worried about, too. Something did have to change. Eventually. She'd been brave enough to start this conversation; he took a deep breath and steadied himself to finish it.

"You know...I realize you think I'm boring and predictable and inflexible and high strung...and, well, to be honest, a lot of _and_s that I know you weren't looking for in life. All I mean is, I know I'm far from your ideal guy. And I know that _you_ know that Alaska isn't what I really planned on. For any length of time. But." He kissed her again below her ear. "I've been thinking about it, and if you found a way to look past all that stuff and feel like you do about me...then maybe I can be a little more flexible on the other thing. When the time comes, I mean. Someday..."

He felt her let out a breath and relax again. He'd do anything to see her face right now so he had certainty of what she was feeling. That wasn't her way, of course. He figured he'd better get used to it, too.

"Anyway," he continued, breaking into the silence that had settled between them. "All I meant was that none of this means we have to change how we _interact_ with each other or anything. Right?"

"Exactly." She turned in his arms, looking happy with that look in her eyes. They both agreed without talking that that the rest of the conversation was a little premature and to leave it for another time. They'd both said a lot already - much more than their new relationship was quite ready to absorb. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as a mischievous look began to permeate her green eyes.

"What're you grinning about, O'Connell?"

"Do you even try to clean up before I come over here?"

"What?" It wasn't the last thing he expected her to say just then, but near to it.

"Your floor's filthy, Fleischman. Most guys try to clean up a little before having a girl over. Guess you've given up on trying to impress me." He blanched a little, which only made her smile more. "You're lucky I'm usually such a sure thing." Five seconds ago, he'd thought she was about to start flirting. On one level they were - it was just at his expense. She'd moved close and started twirling the curls at the base of his neck as she edged her knee forward between his. Her eyes were that deep shade of green they'd get whenever she got close to him. And yet...

"Filthy? I always clean up before you come over. I spent an hour sweeping earlier," he said, trying to sound more annoyed than turned on but not doing a convincing job. The look in her eyes wasn't helping. His mind could barely keep up with her constantly changing moods, but his body was usually all too happy to shift gears, particularly when this was the prevailing mood. They'd just done this, though. Not that he'd turn down the chance to do it again.

She leaned in and kissed beneath his ear. He felt the belt of his robe loosen and her hands sneak inside it and around his back. "Well, if you did, you did an awful job of it." She kissed him twice more, moving her lips down his neck as she slid his robe off his shoulders so it pooled at their feet on the floor. "It's covered in dirt, honey."

"'Honey'? And it is not." 

She laughed against him as her hands moved to fidget with the hem of his t-shirt. "It is. It's sweet that you tried to try, though."

"You've called me sweet twice and honey once tonight, you realize?"

"Mmmm, must be temporary insanity," she murmured against his neck. She pulled the hem of his shirt down and then back up again, pulling it off of him. It felt cold against his neck the second her lips were gone, but they soon found that same spot again, warming him quickly. He felt his intellect start to evaporate along with his desire to fight with her. "Or a guilty conscience," she added, sounding amused with herself.

She went back to moving her lips teasingly along his neck as her fingernails traced along the skin of his back. He let out a slow exhale, trying to dampen his eagerness slightly. He'd had no idea that she'd want to do this as often as she did and was wholly grateful for the fact that his near middle-aged body could still keep up with her. Almost.

Until just now, he'd kept his hands and body a chaste distance from where they'd rather be. He took his shirt now hitting the floor as explicit invitation to slide his hands under the hem of her shirt and against the warm skin of her lower back. She put her lips back to his ear as his lust-addled but self-conscious brain finally caught her last sentence. 

"Wait, guilty? What do you feel guilty about?" 

"I lied to you tonight." Insecurity and fear welled up in him. Surely all this hadn't been an elaborate ruse on her part - the admissions they'd exchanged in the last few minutes.

"Why? I mean, what? What about?" She seemed to delight in making him stupid, having finally found that pitting his body against his mind was the way to do it.

"Your score."

_His what?_, he thought to himself, _What score?_

"I always do," she continued, her soft words floating feather-light from the lips perched beside his ear. He finally realized what she meant. She moved to look into his eyes, that infuriatingly intoxicating twinkle still in hers alongside a smug and teasing one. She looked triumphant, moved closer, and tilted her head to kiss him.

He pulled back, indignant. "What? You did?! You _do_?! Why?"

"Because you're so high-strung - you make for a very fun, very _easy_ target." She traced her fingertip along his lower lip, still hanging open in surprise. 

"I can't believe you!" He tried to bite his tongue and not let her exact any more victory from him by letting the petty, self-centered question on the tip of his tongue tumble out. He failed almost instantly. "What'd I really get, then? A 9?"

She looked victorious, knowing she'd gotten him to compromise his dignity yet again. "Oh yeah, easy. Like you said, Fleischman - three times. No way is that an 8 or anywhere near it." She laughed to herself. "You are so predictable and easy to rile..."

"And you..." he sputtered, irritation filtering in between his desire and abject confusion. "You are so...so..." She pressed her lips against his, silencing him before he could finish his thought.

"Now be nice," she said, pulling back. "And it was a 9 and a half. But if you're that mad, I'd be happy to give you a retake." 

"And why would I assent to this kind of unfair evaluation again?"

"Because it'll be fun," she said, pressing closer to him. "And because I know you, Fleischman. Like you said, you're extremely predictable. Anything short of a 10 is going to gnaw and claw at your arrogant, overinflated ego, day and night, night and day, until you -"

She yelped in surprise, cutting off the rest of her taunt as he picked her up, slung her partway over his shoulder, and started down his hallway.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Hey! You're dropping pretzels all over my somewhat-clean floor, O'Connell, jeez," he protested as he kept walking, undaunted, through the door to his bedroom. "If I have a girl over, she's never gonna want to sleep with me. Unless it's you, of course. But then you've always had low standards..._honey_."

"Fleischman! What are you -"

"Three things, O'Connell. One -" He paused as he maneuvered her off his shoulder and fell with her onto his bed. "I'm not always as predictable as you think. Whatever mental illness you have appears to be infiltrating my body, no doubt through osmosis, and it's causing me, more and more, to make poorly-considered, impulsive, and self-gratifying choices." He slid his hands down her side before tugging his sweatshirt off over her head. "Two, this is mine, for whatever it's worth. The shirt. My _favorite_ shirt, for the record. And I'm not the kind of guy that looks the other way and thinks it's cute while the woman he's seeing systematically steals his wardrobe for her lounge wear." He kissed down her neck.

"Bet me..." she muttered, sounding unconvinced. 

He laughed a little against her and continued kissing towards her shoulder, while his his hands kept busy, making a leisurely tour of her body. 

Maggie moved the hand not in Joel's hair to his shoulder, and he felt her short but sharp little fingernails as she pulled him down closer. Heaven help the skin on his back... "What's the third thing?"

"Oh. Just that you don't know me as well as you think you do. I'll accept your retake, but the thing is, my arrogant, overinflated ego won't be happy until I get an _11_. Which I intend to do right now." 

"The scale only goes to 10, Fleischman..."

"Not after this, it doesn't..."


End file.
